


The Second Law of Thermodynamics

by InconceivableHulk



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InconceivableHulk/pseuds/InconceivableHulk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not dead. Let's have dinner." -SH</p><p>This moment has been hovering in Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler's future for some time. It was inevitable and irreversible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Season 2 and 3.
> 
> Rated M for future fun time naked bits.

_"Good morning. -SH"_

Sherlock Holmes shut his burner phone with a click, sliding it into his breast pocket and looking out over the rest of the cafe.

He was surrounded by friends, lovers, cheating spouses, liars, boring executives and their secretaries. No one was interesting enough to hold his attention for more than a minute and he was quickly becoming distracted.

He had rather enjoyed dressing the part of a middle aged professor of art, spending the better part of the day picking out the fakes in the Hermitage Museum, but now sitting in a boring cafe, drinking subpar Russian tea and eating a bland form of dumpling soup, he was bored.

Any moment now, The Woman would return his text.

Any time now.

He finsihed it out of his pocket, checking the screen. 

No notifications.

He pressed the up volume button. 

Maximum volume.

He opened the screen and the last message.

It had been delievered. 

Full bars.

His mind ran through the possible scenarios that would prevent her from returning his text.

Perhaps she hadn't heard the first notification.

" _I'm not dead. Let's have dinner. -SH"_


	2. Moto Perpetuo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motion that continues indefinitely.

It took two days for her to respond.

Two long, boredom filled days, waiting for his phone to make that insufferably perfect noise, telling that she had finally sent something back.

The cafe was less crowded now, so no one reacted when the moan emanated from his pocket. He dipped his hand in, fishing it out calmly and clicking it open with a detached sense of interest. 

_“I know. -IA”_

He had to smile at that. She was damned clever, but it shouldn’t have taken her two whole days to write that. 

His thumbs hesitated over the keyboard as he pondered an appropriate response. What would peak her interest? What could he say that would continue their game? 

He was so distracted by these plans, that when the shadow crossed him, he looked up, expecting the waiter with another cup of the water that passed for tea in this country.

But unless the waiter had drastically altered his appearance and gender, this was certainly not him.

“Two dead people having _dinner_.” The Woman smiled coyly at him, her shapely legs crossing as she draped herself in the wrought iron chair. “What ever will people say?" 

“I can’t say that I care.” he shut the phone with a click and dropped it back into his coat pocket. She took his cup off its saucer and took a delicate sip.

"Well." her smile was sly. "That makes two of us." her eyes raked over his body and lingered on the coat pocket.  


“Burner phone? Cloned I assume.” Irene set the tea down with a barely hidden grimace.

“Hm simply enough process.” he smirked. “As you are aware.” His eyes took her in, his mind already cataloguing and sorting the various bits of information on her. It was considerably easier when she had clothes on, but even now there were only a few clues as to her person.

_Lines under the eyes, mostly hidden by the artfully applied makeup, told his she had taken an early flight._

_Pupils dilated. That was a no brainer._

_The power suit had been professionally cleaned within the last 2 hours, judging by the slight chemical smell that was mingled with her perfume._

_Her makeup had no signs of rush or mistakes, so she had a hotel or place of lodging in the city._

_No dirt or mud on the back of her calf so she had not driven or taken a cab, so the place must be nearby. She had walked, but not far, not in those heels._

He lifted his eyes from her legs slowly. And from her smile, she was enjoying his gaze on her. 

“I expected you sooner.”

“No you didn’t.” her counter was immediate. He hadn’t expected to get away with that blatant a lie, especially since he honestly didn’t want to. She had seen his expression, and she knew.

“Well maybe not. But I had expected your response sooner.”

“Oh it’s a response you want?” she blinked lazily and uncrossed her legs to stand. 

He watched her move around the table gracefully, her fingers dragging along the edge till she reached him.

He turned in his chair, looking up at her expectantly, fingers curled around the arm chair lightly.

She didn’t lean down to him. No. She wouldn’t relinquish her power that easily. Instead she reached out to his cheek, patting it lightly.

“If you wanted a response, you should have just said so.” She smiled and slapped him hard across the cheekbone.

A little belatedly, he realized her eyes had been dilated, not in arousal, but in closely checked anger.

The slap drew the attention of the few patrons in the cafe, but when Sherlock merely continued to look at her, they returned to their meals.

His cheek stung a little, but he found himself being able to remember the warmth of her hand before the slap. 

She returned to her seat just as the waiter, summoned by the sound of their row, returned to them.

" _Um. Is everything agreeable?"_ He asked in Russian, eyes darting between the two of them. _  
_

The couple looked up in annoyance, Sherlock waving his hand dismissively and Irene pushing the cup and saucer towards the server.

" _We need hot water, two clean cups, and at least six bags of tea."_  her Russian was impeccable. She smiled at the waiter in such a charming manner.

Sherlock's annoyance vanished and he turned to stare at Irene. It took him a moment to process the fact that she spoke flawless Russian. And it took him another moment to realize her smile had changed. It was not, he realized, the smile she used on him previously. Well. Not the smile she used 7 times out of 10. It was the smile of a professional dominatrix who was getting exactly what she wanted.

" _Immediately madam."_  the waiter was no match for her stunning smile and bowed, hurrying off to fetch her demands.

"You speak Russian." the words were out of his mouth suddenly, and inexpicably. 

"Stating the obvious. How very John of me."

Laughter errupted from Irene, one of such pure amusement that Sherlock found himself grinning and chuckling with her.

"Oh Sherlock. Look at you." she smiled, no trace of mocking or anger in her voice. She reached over the table, drawing one finger lightly over his jaw. "It's almost as though you were a real boy." 


	3. Solid State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The state of matter in which materials are not fluid, but retain their boundaries without support."

_“It’s almost as if you were a real boy.”_

Irene watched him carefully, looking for every twitch of his face, every movement of his eyes, trying to learn exactly what was going on inside that brilliant, emotionally twisted mind.

When she noticed the blink, it was almost too slight. But his eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, she knew she had struck a chord in the impossibly complex man.

He had too much experience in hiding it, however, to let the exact nature of his disturbance leak.

“Disappointed Miss Adler?” he always had the mask on, she knew, but in that blink, she saw the hole in it.

“Hardly Mr. Holmes.” she let her foot caress his leg under the table, smiling at his twitch of reaction.

“I find it....stimulating.” she can’t help but push his buttons.

Sherlock opens his mouth to say something. Probably something clever. Something designed to make her marvel at his genius.

The two cups, a pot of hot water and tea bags, clattered to their table as the waiter stood looking only mildly apologetic, before quickly excusing himself from the annoyed look Sherlock had shot him.

Irene let out a slow disappointed sigh and leaned back, her foot removed from his leg as she pouring the water from the pot into her cup.

“We so rarely have an uninterrupted moment.” she lowered two tea bags into the water, shooting the bags a distasteful look. When the water had turned dark, she lifted it gracefully to her red lips and sipped. 

“Perhaps we should remove ourselves to some place private.” She asked over the rim of the cup.  She hardly expected his response to be agreement so she was pleasantly shocked when he smirked.

“Perhaps we should. The _politsiya_ should be here momentarily to arrest our waiter and I don’t think two dead people should be having tea when they do.”

Irene gave him an incredulous stare, unsure if he was just trying to impress her or he was actually serious. 

When the sirens started to wail in the distance, she made up her mind.

She gave him a smile and shook her head as if she still couldn’t quite believe him.

“You are so sexy when you’re being clever.” she laughed and stood, watching him rise with her, his long fingers already holding her coat ready.

“Without even being asked. Thank you dear.” she slid it on easily, using the movement to brush against him.

She felt him close behind her, his warmth in the cool spring air decidedly welcome.  
He moved just enough to dig a few rubles from his pocket and drop them onto the table.

Standing just behind her, Sherlock motioned her to the exit, shortening his long gait to match her stride.

Before they had got a few meters away, police cars screeched to a halt and men rushed in. 

“So what did the waiter do to earn your interest?” She asked, glancing behind them in time to see uniformed officers manhandling the waiter to the ground.

“Small time criminal. Drugs, arms trafficking. A light problem solved before my tea cooled.” He shrugged a shoulder in disinterest.

“Of course. Nothing like locking up criminals for some light entertainment.” She gave him a exasperated smirk.

Holmes watched her from the corner of his eye, trying again to read any cues from her.

“How did you find me?” 

She shifted her attention to him, eyes sparked with humor.

“Ah. But why should I tell you and ruin all the fun you’ll have trying to figure it out?” the humor spreading from her eyes to her mouth in a way Sherlock found incredibly appealing.

He slides his hands into his coat pockets, rubbing his thumb over his fingertips, curiously aware of his body’s sudden desire to touch her.

“Mycroft?” he wouldn’t put it past his brother to put her in touch with him.

Irene gave a small chuckle and shook her head.

“Your brother still thinks I’m dead. Thank god for that, he is such a dreadful bore.”

The laugh resonated deep in his chest, took Irene by surprise, but shifted her smile from tease, to pleased. 

She hadn’t know he could laugh like that. 

She stopped quickly and turned to face him, determination and an intense hunger lining her face.

“Are you serious about dinner?” her voice didn’t waver or falter, her eyes didn’t tear up and she certainly didn’t seem desperate. She needed to know.

Shame flashed abruptly through Sherlock as he looked at her, his insides twisting and writhing. 

Of course he was serious. Hadn’t he made that clear?

His eyes darted slightly as he tried to find a suitable response, but he came up empty. He was speechless. That was a new development. But he suspected it would become more common while he was in her company.

Irene saw his adams apple bob as he swallowed nervously. And when he bent at the shoulders towards her, she remained utterly still.

The kiss he delivered was soft, unsure and gentle in a way that took Irene completely by surprise.

When she had imagined it, and she had imagined it quite a few times in the past year, she had thought of passion, hunger and need. 

But this was more than Irene had ever expected. This was full of emotions. This was sweet and kind and innocent.

The small part of her brain that was still playing the game, noted he was inexperienced. His technique could use some work.

And yet, Sherlock Holmes was kissing her. 

More than anything else, that fact quieted her mind.

It was when she started kissing him back that her mind went blissfully blank of all other thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little sappy, but it seemed to fit. Let me know what you think.


	4. James-Lange Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions occur as a result of physiological reactions to events.

He pulled away first, mind overloaded with sensory input, and all of it focused on Irene. Tiny insignificant details that demanded attention. He wasn’t sure why he was fixated on how soft her lips were despite the lipstick, or how his hands had involuntarily found their way to her waist. He had always prided himself on self control, but this was beyond his capacity.

He blinked slowly, coming back into the present with more difficulty than he would have liked. Her fingers were curled into the lapels of his jacket, exerting enough force to keep his half bent at the waist and near enough for their lips to continue brushing.

When she felt him move away, she allowed it, smoothing her fingers down the front of his coat and sighing contentedly.

“Well then.” she stepped back, fingers touching her hair, giving herself time to collect her thoughts.

“I take it that answers your question?” his voice came out low and rough, and he forced himself to swallow and clear his throat. It would not do to show weakness. Not in front of her.

“Oh it answers one question, but I’m afraid you’re not so easily let off the hook.” Sherlock watched her tongue flick out and lick her lips with decadent joy.

“Your place is closer.” he motioned her onward, eyes still focused on the blood red lips he had enjoyed minutes before.

Irene laughed and traced her perfectly manicured fingers along his jaw with barely concealed lust.

“If you’re not careful with that clever mouth of yours, I’ll take you right here on the street.”

"Down girl." he shot her a grin, and when his voice had dropped an octave, it was by his own design, not his body's betrayal.

Irene laughed delightedly and spun on her toes, flicking him a look over her shoulder. "Oh I like that."

Sherlock made a note to remember the preference.

He had been right, of course, that she had only been a little ways away from his cafe in a posh hotel with two doormen (ex military), several concierge, maids, bell hops and guests in expensive jewels and furs.

Sherlock realized he looked out of place, casual slacks and a short coat setting him apart from the krupnaya burzhuaziya that surrounded them.

Irene was, however, completely in her element. She could move amongst these people better than even Mycroft. Her grace, charm, wit, and extremely good looks making it almost too easy.

Perhaps that was why she dealt in 'protection', a challenge not unlike his own addiction to solving crimes.

He followed her to the set of lifts behind the front desk, noting the hungry stares she received from both the gentlemen and their ladies. He felt a surge of an emotion he could describe as possessiveness realizing that he had Irene's attentions. He knew he was superior, but these glances and the accompanying knowledge that he was the one with her, simply acted as confirmation. It may be a pointless emotion, but it was enjoyable for a brief moment. He allowed himself a tight lipped smile, looking down to Irene seeing the smile reflected back.

The lift doors opened and together they stepped in, shoulders touching briefly. She pushed the button for the 18th floor before shifting back next to him, her warmth noticeably present down his arm. They rode in silence for many floors, stopping only once to admit another couple. Both the man and the woman were mid 30's, average height, and the obviously in a new relationship. They were leaning and touching at every available opportunity, giggling and sighing incessantly. He doubted he would ever be so openly amorous. The very thought was ridiculous. Sherlock must have made a noise of annoyance, considering Irene's light chuckle. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her, not needing words to question her outburst. Her amused look only broadened and she placed a hand on his arm to steady herself as she rose to brush her mouth over his ear. Her whisper tickled against him, sending a line of goosebumps down his back.

"Physical intimacy is so new for you. I wonder if it will make you blush." she kissed the corner of his mouth on her way back to her side of the lift.

He couldn't manage anything more than a glare at her, which she took in stride.

"I don't blush." he stated calmly.

"You seem very sure of yourself. That's good, I enjoy a challenge."

"You consider everything about me a challenge."

"Don't flatter yourself too much. Your ego can barely fit in here as is."

The door dinged and the couple exited quickly, not even glancing at their brief companions.

As the doors closed, Sherlock came to the quick realization that they were about to be completely alone, without chance of interruption. He briefly tapped his foot with an impatient thrill.

"I'd say you're actually looking forward to this." she let the statement hang.

"You could say that, yes." he let the smirk curl one corner of his mouth and half turned so she could see it.

"I shall endeavor to live up to my reputation then." there was something in her mannerism that made Sherlock turn and train his attention to her.

Women had always been so easily studied, their motives obvious and dull. None had ever been as interesting and complex as Irene. And now he found himself contemplating encouraging her. Reassuring her? Was he capable of it?

"No." he faced her, feet and shoulder squared towards her. He watched her eyes dart up in confusion.

"No?"

"No. I don't want your reputation." It was a calculated remark, but it was also true.

His gamble didn't pay off. He saw her eyes cool and her body shifted away from his ever so slightly. She was no longer invading his personal space and it proved troublesome.

"Ah but Mr. Holmes, my reputation is all that I have."

"We are both dead Ms. Adler, our reputations are out of our hands now."

"Suppose you are right, and I do not concede to that, what is it you do want from me?" Her eyes had narrowed at him.

He wasn't clear of her mood yet, but he wondered just how deep he was willing to delve into this game with her. Considering they were almost to her rooms, he had to confess it was farther than he had originally planned.

"Knowledge. And, risking sounding banal, your self portrait." he knew she was catch the reference and his chest released when she looked amused.

"This is our floor." she nodded to the doors, and Sherlock turned to see them standing open. He hadn't heard them open and he frowned imperceptibly at his lack of attention.

"At least we know I can drive you to distraction." she moved past him, not even attempting to keep from touching him.

He shadowed her down the hall, long strides keeping him close. Irene slid her key into the lock, intimately aware of Sherlocks close proximity. She used opening the door as an excuse to bump back into him, catching him off guard and causing a low groan to escape his lungs.

"I am going to enjoy this." Irene murmured, pleased at his reaction.

Pulling away from him ever so slowly and reluctantly, Irene draped her coat over the back of a chair and set out a delicate hand to remove her heels. Sherlock remained in front of the closed door, drinking in her form.

"I believe that is often the goal. Enjoyment."

Having removed her heels, she stood with a hand on her shapely hip, looking very nearly irresistible. Any other man would be powerless to stop himself from obeying her every whim or command. Holmes was not about to give her the satisfaction; not yet anyway. He moved across the carpet towards her, finally bowing under her gaze and toeing off his shoes and balling his coat into a corner of the room.

“It’s about pleasure. The thrill of the chase, to put it in words you understand.” Irene drew her hands down Sherlock’s chest, while her eyes focused on the details of him. She popped each button of his shirt as she spoke, touching down his exposed skin. Her eyes glanced up to his face and the small crease between his eyebrows. He was concentrating very hard on her, making her smile proudly.

“I’m familiar with the theory...” he began, dropping his eyes down her body and feeling his pulse increase.

“Theory may sound nice on paper,” she pushed his shirt the rest of the way off his shoulders, mouth leaning forward and kissing lightly below his collarbone

“But I’ll be more impressed if you can put it to practice.” She felt goosebumps raise on his skin under her lips, her smile widening.

Sherlock raised his hand behind her, and when his touch landed, it was feather soft and tentative. The shiver echoed his own, running up her spine and deep into her core.

"I am not completely ignorant Woman." his growl was deep and animalistic, making Irene shiver in anticipation.

Irene lipped over his jaw, smiling cheekily, "I wait with baited breath."


	5. Cannon-Bard Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We react to stimulus and experience the associated emotion at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long hiatus. This chapter kicked my ass, but I am over all pleased with the result.  
> Enjoy.

If Holmes had been a sentimentalist, he would have compared sex with Irene Adler to his first hit of cocaine. The high was rather impressive for a natural, chemical reaction.

It could also be very addictive if he wasn’t careful.  
  
His pulse had finally come to rest at his normal 61 beats per minute, and his skin no longer damp with sweat. After the latest “romp”, they had managed to untangle the sheets and maneuver their way into the bed properly and take a needed rest.  
  
Sherlock was more than a little grateful that Irene was not a cuddler, content to stay a hands breath away from him, breathing slowly, appearing to be sleeping lightly.  
  
He had undone her hair at some point, dropping it from its usual up-do and was now falling over her shoulder. It was brown in this light, not black as it often seemed.  
  
“Sherlock I can hear you staring.” Irene spoke with slightly slurred words, obviously still half asleep. She said his name with a tone of affection and something unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He liked the way it moved past her lips, and he wondered if that was a side effect of sex; the ability to mangle words, and mouths in more pleasurable ways.

“Does the ability to hear my stare having any meaning?” He saw her smile into the mattress.  
  
“Oh yes. And while I applaud your stamina and enthusiasm, I require rest and food before I can teach you more.” She finally dragged her eyes open to return his stare, looking for all the world an exhausted, but pleased, professor. “You will have to tell me where you learned to...”

The knock startled her almost as much as the accompanying call of “ROOM SERVICE.”  
  
Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile hidden, rising to his feet, stepping into his trousers and heading for the door.  
  
The privilege of an expensive hotel was the separation of bedroom and sitting room, allowed Irene to sit up in bed, tossing her pillow to the headboard while being hidden from the man at the door. Leaning against it, she heard muffled words exchanged and the door closing with a snap. Sherlock re-entered with a platter of covered food.  
  
And here Irene thought she couldn't be more surprised.  
  
“Enough for two? Why Mr. Holmes, I never would have expected you to be so thoughtful.” She watched in pleasure as Sherlock’s cheeks heated. It was almost enough to forgive him for waking her.  
  
“It’s perfectly logical. We both require energy and this offered a variety of options.”  
  
She saw deli meat, bread, fruit, crackers and assorted cheeses lining the platter as Sherlock set it down, before following Irene’s example and sitting on the mattress.  
  
Irene picked a strawberry from the platter and raised her eyebrows at him. “Rather cliche don’t you think?” she took a bite without looking away from him, pleased to see the color rise to his cheeks yet again.  
  
He waved her words away as though they were flies. “Not knowing your preferences for your meals, I endeavored to provide a selection that would...”  
He found his sentence very effectively cut off by Irene’s strawberry tasting lips on his. He wasn’t sure if he would ever become immune to the effects of her kisses, but the thought, strangely, didn’t bother him.  
  
She dragged her fingers under his jaw as she pulled away and settled back against the headboard, looking perfectly content. “When in Russia, I do prefer good caviar.” She admitted, scooping up another strawberry.  
  
Sherlock snorted in amusement. “Who’s cliche now?”  
  
“It’s only cliche if I enjoy it with champagne or good Russian Vodka.”  
  
“Well then, I’m glad I ordered neither.” He noticed for the hundredth time her eyes wandering his form and he ended his comment with an exasperated sigh.

“Haven’t you looked enough woman?”

The sigh and the comment only managed to evoke a satisfied laugh from her. Her laugh and smile were certainly going to drive him mad before long, but he had a list of worse ways to go.  
  
“You must indulge me a few looks. I’ve only just bedded you, and I simply must admire my prize.”  
  
“Three times isn’t enough to admire?”  
  
Her grin turned sinful. “No.”  
  
His exasperation formed a frown over his face. “Are you like this every time you have sex?”  
  
“You’ll have to wait and find out.” She obviously was not deterred by his annoyance. She arched a leg, resting her elbow on her knee, nibbling on another piece of fruit. “You still have yet to tell me why you are in Russia.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you’d believe I was on holiday?” his frown had abated slightly while Irene’s laugh had no humor in it.  
  
“You’ve never taken a holiday. And I am not so arrogant to believe you are only here for Dinner.” her smile was a little dimmer now, her eyes a little sadder.  
  
“No I did not.” he didn’t break eye contact. “But I won’t deny it has proved...enlightening.”  
  
A smile flared into existence briefly, lightening Irene’s face.  
  
“You are avoiding my question.” her voice gained the stern quality she used on clients when they misbehaved, but it did not have the same shaming effect on Sherlock.  
  
He picked a piece of fruit off the platter, pretending to examine it before tossing it haphazardly into his mouth. He chews and swallows quickly, looking towards her with the deep set, unblinking stare he gave when he had a plan of attack.  
  
“I’ll answer your question if you answer one of my own.” he barely moves, watching her face intently.  
  
“A little tit for tat then?” she laughed at him, neither unnerved nor intimidated by his stare.  
  
Holmes nodded once, blinking slowly like a cat as Irene pretended to mull it over.  
  
“Alright. I asked first; why are you here?”  
  
“Let’s call it a fact finding mission.” her grin reveals that she is playing with him. He expected nothing less. “Why are you here?”  
  
He withholds a smirk of his own and inclines his head. “A similar endeavor.”  
  
“Would it, perhaps, have something to do with discovering a certain informants sources?” the next strawberry disappeared past her grin and Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“Now why would you think that?” his voice dropped, becoming gravelly and intense.

“As you so astutely pointed out, lifetimes ago, I am moderately clever.”  
  
“Hmm. It seems I’ll have to reevaluate my original assessment.”  
  
“Oh I do wish you would.” her eyes lit up and she leaned over their food, enticing smile on her face.  
  
Sherlock felt the growl emerge from deep in his throat and knew he wanted just what she was implying.  
  
“Later. If you’re a good girl.” the words were a growl as well, but he didn’t care at the moment.  
  
“What makes you think I’ll want you later?” she kept leaning forward despite her feeble protest, and her smile never falters.

“A deduction based on the presented evidence.” his eyes slide down her body. “But are you proposing we...partner up for our respective tasks?”  
Irene represses a shiver at the look on his face and hums in satisfaction.  
  
“Yes Mr Holmes, that is exactly what I’m saying.”  
  
“Well Ms. Adler, I might be persuaded...” she didn’t allow him to finish the sentence.


End file.
